


you've got a friend in me

by colazitron



Series: kiss prompts [3]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 06:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: Jonas has a problem, and Isak might be the solution.or: Jonas has never kissed anyone. The solution? Practice.





	you've got a friend in me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desert_coffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desert_coffin/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with the characters depicted herein or their creators. I made this all up and am sharing it for fun.

“God, Jonas, will you just spit it out?” Isak says, slightly exasperated after his fourth far-too-easy FIFA win. It's not that Jonas is unbeatable, but usually Isak at least has to try a little. Today Jonas is just spacing out, chewing on his lip in a way that Isak is very pointedly not thinking about in any way at all, and staring somewhere into the middle distance between the sofa and the TV, where he's actually supposed to be looking.

Jonas doesn't even flinch at Isak's sudden outburst, just sighs and drops the controller onto the couch cushions. He flops back against the backrest and groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“Fine,” he says then, pulling his hands back off, meeting Isak's sort of wide-eyed stare resignedly. “But we're going to my room.”

“O-kay,” Isak says, slightly apprehensive, and gets up to turn off the playstation and pack away the controllers before Jonas can change his mind.

Jonas leads the way to his bedroom and leans against the inside of his door like he's trying to make sure no one's following them inside while Isak sits down on his bed. If Jonas had a key, he'd probably look his door right about now, Isak thinks. For a few moments he just watches Jonas continue to nibble on his lip. Then he heaves an impatient sigh.

“What in the world could be such a big deal?” Isak asks, feeling only slightly like a hypocrite, because _ha! That's definitely not what it is._

“Okay,” Jonas says, and crosses the room to sit beside Isak on the bed. “So, you know… Ingrid.”

“From our class?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I know her,” Isak says, trying really hard to keep the 'duh' out of his voice.

Jonas rolls his eyes, so he's probably not entirely successful.

“I want to ask her to be my girlfriend,” Jonas says.

_Yeah. Definitely not that._

“Oh,” Isak says, swallowing and wracking his brain for the correct answer. “You, um, don't seem too ecstatic about that?”

Jonas makes another one of those frustrated noises, and hangs his head, letting his hair obscure half his face. Isak frowns and almost reaches out to push it back. He doesn't like when Jonas thinks he has to hide something from him.

_Hypocrisy, thy name is Isak._

“It's just that I've never, like, kissed anyone. And I don't wanna mess it up with her,” Jonas mumbles.

Isak very pointedly does not laugh in relief, glad for the three seconds it takes him to school his expression that Jonas isn't looking at him.

“Hey,” he says, and puts a tentative hand on Jonas' shoulder. “She won't care.”

“Yes, she will! She's been making out with Thomas all over school!”

“Yeah, and it looked disgusting,” Isak points out. “And… Sara told me Ingrid didn't like the way he kissed her at all. Way too much spit, she said.”

Why in the world Sara thinks Isak cares about what kind of kisses Ingrid and she approve of he has no idea, but maybe she noticed Jonas' crush on Ingrid and approves. That would be nice, Isak supposes. It's always good if the best friend doesn't hate you. Isak's going to have to practice.

“Did she?”

“Promise,” Isak says. “All you have to do is not slobber on her and you're good.”

“Well, but how do I make sure I don't slobber!”

“I don't know! Practice or something!” Isak suggests, slightly taken aback by Jonas' vehemence.

“But with whom! I can't exactly kiss some other girl and then go 'by the way Ingrid, go out with me, please',” Jonas says.

“I didn't mean--- I meant the back of your hand or something,” Isak says. “It's not that hard not to slobber on someone, I don't think.”

“Oh,” Jonas says, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

Isak allows himself a little chuckle. “Yeah, no shit.”

“I just… really like her, you know? Like, I really, really like her.”

“Yeah,” Isak says. “I get that.”

Jonas smiles at him and Isak's heart falls down into his stomach when his eyes slip from Isak's down to his lips.

“You could to it,” Jonas says.

“Do what,” Isak says, heart jumping back up into his throat.

“Kiss me. Tell me what I'm doing wrong,” Jonas says.

“No, no, no,” Isak protests immediately. “I'm not doing that.”

“Yes, you are,” Jonas insists. “Come on, Issy, please? You're my best friend! It's not gay if we just kiss a little for practice!”

_Yeah, thanks._

“I--”

“Please, Issy. Please, please, please,” Jonas says. “Come on; I'll love you forever if you do this for me.”

“You love me anyway,” Isak says, hopes Jonas can't hear how his voice cracks a little, or chalks it up to the way his voice has been cracking more and more lately.

Jonas rolls his eyes fondly. “Yeah, obviously. But, come on, Issy. For me.”

There is no way Isak can get out of this without looking like a complete asshole. He tries to swallow his heart back down into his chest, and then just gives up on it.

“Ugh, you owe me,” Isak says, sounding somehow convincingly unwilling even to his own ears.

_This is a bad idea._

Jonas beams at him and ruffles his hair affectionately before shuffling around so they're sat opposite each other. Their criss-crossed legs are sort of in the way, but Isak is not about to suggest they tangle them in some way instead. They can deal with awkward leaning.

Jonas looks down at their legs and then grins at Isak.

“Well, let's assume Ingrid and I won't have this problem.”

“Yeah, let's assume,” Isak echoes.

Jonas knocks their knees together, and then wrinkles his nose.

“On three?”

Isak snorts a laugh despite himself.

“It's not a race,” he says. “Just kiss me.”

His belly heats as the words fall from his lips, but Jonas seems to calm down, his face softening a little.

“Thank you,” he says. “Seriously. You're awesome.”

Isak's pretty sure he's blushing, that's what he is.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, and then Jonas is suddenly leaning over their legs, closing the distance between them.

He doesn't even hesitate before he connects their lips, warm mouth to warm mouth. Neither of them moves at first, and then Jonas pulls back, and for a brief moment Isak thinks this was it. That's all the confirmation Jonas needs that kissing Ingrid isn't scaling Mount Everest, and he'll be fine without practice.

Only instead Jonas shuffles around until he's on his knees and then leans in to kiss Isak again, lips just as warm as before but firmer now. And when they start to move against Isak's, he can't well just sit there and do nothing, can he? So he kisses back. Lets the soft, gentle touches light a fire in his stomach and his head, feels his hands go cold and his face go hot, and tries to keep his breathing as steady as possible.

It turns a little damp when Jonas opens his mouth properly, puts one hand on Isak's shoulder because kneeling bent over like that must be a little uncomfortable. It's not unpleasant. Definitely not slobbery. Just a little hotter than before, the heat in Isak's stomach starting to lick up to his heart and Isak's pretty sure he's powerless to prevent it from spreading.

“Isak,” Jonas mumbles against his lips.

Isak makes a sound that hopefully doesn't sound as helpless to Jonas as it does to him.

“Can I… like...” Jonas says, and Isak can't quite follow the thought, but he also can't quite force his eyes back open, and, well, he's not going to ever deny Jonas anything, is he.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and then Jonas is kissing him again.

And-- oh. That's. That's Jonas tongue slipping past Isak's lips. Isak probably should have denied him that, because there's a shift in his heart right then that feels irreversibly, terribly large.

Jonas' hand is heavier on his shoulder now, so Isak just sort of puts his own hands behind himself and starts leaning backwards, giving under Jonas' weight until he's lying back against the bed with Jonas hovering above him. He clutches the duvet by his hips so he won't be tempted to reach up and pull Jonas down on top of himself, and meets Jonas' tongue with his own, swallowing the noise that wants to escape him at that before it can.

“Okay,” Jonas says, sitting back up and looking a little flustered as he stares down at Isak. “Okay, I think I'm good.”

_Yeah, you are._

“Okay,” Isak says, quietly, clearing his throat and laughing it off when Jonas winks at him.

“Shut up,” he mumbles and reaches up to shove at him.

Jonas laughs back and tangles their fingers briefly to give Isak's hand a squeeze.

“Thanks, Issy,” he says.

“Yeah, sure,” Isak says. “What are best friends for.”

Jonas snorts a laugh.

“To practice-kiss, apparently,” he says, grinning down at Isak.

Isak lifts his eyebrows as if to say 'exactly', and recognises the shift in Jonas' expression just a second too late, squealing with laughter when Jonas digs his fingers into his sides, tickling him.

At least when they lie on the bed side-by-side fifteen minutes later, trying to catch their breath, his heart doesn't feel quite as broken.

 

** The End **


End file.
